


Bel Inconnu

by Kholran



Series: Spin Me a Tale [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Blind Character, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:06:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3370637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kholran/pseuds/Kholran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard is having a terrible morning, until he runs into someone familiar in line for coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bel Inconnu

**Author's Note:**

> Bel Inconnu: "The Fair Unknown"

_Shit, shit, shit._

He was going to be _so late_.

It had been one of _those_ mornings. The kind that started with the coffee maker refusing to function properly, and Bain misplacing the English paper that was due that day, and Tilda having to turn back on the walk to school to get something she’d forgotten. Twice.

Of course that had put him in line for coffee in the middle of the morning rush. Bard should have just skipped it, but he really didn’t feel confident in his ability to deal with Alfrid without resorting to homicide if he didn’t get some caffeine first. No doubt he’d be downright gleeful at the prospect of ratting Bard out for his lateness. His mouth seemed almost permanently attached to the foreman’s arse, and really, calling him ‘Master’ was downright creepy.

Bard felt sorely out of place among the business crowd, all patent leather shoes and expensive suits. By contrast, his work boots should have been replaced months ago, and the sleeves of his heavy coat were starting to fray. Today probably wasn’t the best day to ask to pick up additional shifts, though, so he’d have to make do with what he had. Winter was always hard.

It would be harder still if he lost his job entirely and _just what was taking so long_? It felt like he’d been waiting much longer than the three minutes that had actually passed. At least he was close enough now to see the menu. No wonder this process seemed to take forever. He didn’t even know what the difference was between most of the options, and the price tag attached to them only served to remind him why he made his own coffee at home.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and he noticed a folded bill drop to the floor from the customer in front of him. When it didn’t seem like the man had noticed, Bard reached down to pick it up. A less honourable person would have put the $50 in his own pocket, but he wasn’t the sort, even if he could have put it to good use.

“Excuse me, you dropped this,” he said, tapping the man in front of him on the shoulder. When he turned, Bard was surprised to find he recognized the face. He’d been at the park three Saturdays in a row, but had missed the fourth. Bard had pretended not to be disappointed by it. His brain had called him a liar.

Looking confused, the man held out his hand palm-up, and Bard placed the bill into it. He closed his fingers around it, smiled, and then returned it to his pocket without ever looking down. Bard wondered just how much money a person had to have to not even care how much they’d just dropped.

“Thank you. Most people wouldn’t be so honest. Can I pick up your order?” he asked, and immediately Bard felt guilty for his previous thought.

“I… Sure. Yes, I would appreciate that. Thanks,” Bard replied, and then stepped up to ask for black coffee in the largest size they had. When he glanced back, he found the man looking at him with an odd expression, head cocked just a little to one side as though he was trying to figure something out. Bard hoped he hadn’t overstepped in ordering a large.

“I feel like I know you from somewhere,” he said, and then realization dawned. “The park. You’re the one who tells the stories.”

“Aye, that’s me.” Maybe he’d been mistaken thinking the man was there every weekend to hear him, if he hadn’t recognized Bard in return. That was a bigger disappointment than his absence the previous Saturday.

Before either could say anything more, the barista finished their orders. She seemed familiar with the man, enough to hand him the cups directly and point out which was which instead of just leaving them on the counter as she’d been doing with most everyone else.

Bard thanked him again when he, in turn, held the cup out. He thought that would be the end of it, but the familiar stranger continued.

“You’re quite good at it. Your stories, I mean. I’ve never heard anything like them.”

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” Bard discreetly checked the time on the wall clock over the man’s shoulder. “Look, I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, but I’m already going to be late for work and I’d better not waste any more time. Thank you again for the coffee.”

“You start so early? On a weekday?”

“No. Well, yes. I wish I could make a living with the stories, but they’re just a hobby I happen to be good enough doing to make some extra money. The rest of the week, I have a job at the shipyard hauling cargo. And I’m going to be very very late if I don’t make the next train.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to detain you,” the man said, and then hesitated a moment. “If you’d like, I can give you a ride. It’s at least partially my fault for keeping you.”

Bard was about to decline, but another glance at the clock told him he wasn’t going to reach the station in time even if he ran. “If it’s not too far out of your way. Thank you. Again.”

“It’s no trouble. My car is out front.” He gestured and Bard followed, and if he thought being in the coffee house was awkward, he found it was nothing compared to getting into the back of a very impressive and very expensive chauffeured car.

“Can I at least know your name? Now that you’ve bought me coffee and given me a ride, I feel like it would be impolite not to ask,” Bard said after a few moments of not-quite-comfortable silence.

“It’s Thranduil. And you?”

“Bard.”

“Has anyone ever told you that’s a very appropriate name for a storyteller?”

“Well, I don’t sing, but I suppose it is. Anyway, it’s nice to finally put a name to the face.”

“Ah. Then I’m not as discreet as I hoped, and you’ve noticed.”

“My usual audience is about four feet tall. It’s kind of hard not to.”

“Point taken. And your accent. Welsh?”

“Aye. You’ve a good ear.”

“Something of a recent development.”

There was a sort of wistfulness to his voice, and it took Bard a moment to put the pieces together. The way Thranduil had recognized him by his voice, not his face, the folded money that he hadn’t needed to look at, his interactions with the barista and the way his driver had called him towards the car. “Oh. I didn’t realize… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I wouldn’t have thought… You don’t…”

“I don’t want to be treated differently because of it.” There was an edge to Thranduil’s voice, and Bard was fairly certain he’d handled that the wrong way.

The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable at all.

Thankfully it was short-lived, and the car pulled up outside the tall gate to the shipyard. He was only late by ten minutes. With any luck Alfrid had been too busy seeking the foreman’s approval to notice. Offering yet another word of thanks, Bard was about to slide out of the car when a hand on his arm stopped him.

Thranduil pressed the same folded bill he’d picked up earlier back into his hand along with a business card. “The stories are very good,” he said by way of explanation, and then he released his grip.

Bard was left speechless and more than a little confused when the car pulled away. It was only his coworker’s call that snapped him out of his thoughts and brought him forcefully back to the real world. He let himself in through the gate, flashing his ID to the security guard, and clapped Percy on the back when he reached his friends. “How much trouble am I in this time?”

“No worries, Bard, we covered for you. Punched your time card and told Alfrid to sod off. Anyone says anything, we’ll tell them you were here the whole time.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Whose car was that? Did you win the lottery and not tell us?”

“No, nothing like that. It was his.” Bard grinned and passed over the card he’d gotten.

_Thranduil Oropherion, CEO_   
_Greenwood, Inc._


End file.
